


The Mentor

by Black_Maknae



Category: Assassin's Creed, Assassin's Creed Syndicate - Fandom, Assassin's Creed Syndicate: Jack The Ripper DLC
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Apple of Eden, Assassins vs. Templars, Attempt at Humor, Attempted Kidnapping, Awkward Flirting, Bad Decisions, Belle Epoque France, Bisexual Jacob Frye, Cane Swords, Canon-Typical Gang Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Carriage Chases, Cooking Lessons, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Denial of Feelings, Devil's Luck, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Drunken Shenanigans, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, English Fashion, Explosions, F/M, Feelings Realization, Fictional Religion & Theology, Fictional Tribes, Fight Club - Freeform, Fighting, French Assassins, French Fashion, French Kissing, Fucked Up, Gauntlet Modification, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Gunshot Wounds, Headressess, Healthy Relationships, Hidden Blades, Historical Accuracy, Horseback Riding, Interracial Relationship, Jacob Frye's Chest Hair, Jacob Frye's Couch, Jealousy, Juno (Assassin's Creed) - Freeform, Knifeplay, Literal Sleeping Together, Major Character Injury, Mentioned French Assassins, Mentor Becomes Mentee, Mentor/Protégé, Misunderstandings, Morally Ambiguous Character, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Older Jacob Frye, Older Man/Younger Woman, PTSD, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Pieces of Eden, Possible Character Death, Post-Jack the Ripper DLC, Pre-Jack the Ripper DLC, Predator/Prey, Pregnancy Scares, Prototype Blades, Romance/Friendship - Freeform, Scars, Secret Relationship, Sexual Tension, Shrapnel - Freeform, Shroud of Eden (Assassin's Creed), Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Sort Of, Stargazing, Strength Kink, Strict Jacob Frye, Strip Tease, Stripping, Sword of Eden, Tattoos, Templar Ball, The British Brotherhood, The Cafe Theatre, The French Brotherhood, The Templar Order (Assassin's Creed), The Train Hideout, Touch-Starved, Training, Undercover Missions, Undercover as a Couple, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Worried Jacob Frye, circus performer, corsets, disguises, stab wounds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25896550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Maknae/pseuds/Black_Maknae
Summary: It was comforting knowing the last thing she'd hear would be the heartbeat of the man she loved, while she was in his arms. She would've preferred a longer period of time to spend with him, but this is fine. It'd be all she got, so it would have to be right? She hoped she wouldn't die here, but too much of her knew that there was a slim chance of anything good happening now.
Relationships: Evie Frye/Henry Green | Jayadeep Mir, Jacob Frye/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	The Mentor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote Credit: Edgar Allen Poe's Imitation

_A dark unfathom'd tide_

_Of interminable pride--_

_A mystery, and a dream,_

_Should my early life seem;_

_I say that dream was fraught_

_With a wild, and waking thought_

_Of beings that have been,_

_Which my spirit hath not seen_

July 13th, 1888

She wished they'd stop, but she knew they wouldn't. The red-hot terrors of her home, icy and salty waves lapping at her sides, or the ringing in her head. She wished they would stop, but knew they wouldn't. Not until she woke up again on her Mentor's couch, back in London, back in her right mind away from her nightmares. She hated waiting for these moments, the breaking realization she was stuck in her head until it ended. She wasn't crazy--not of her own knowledge of course. The nightmares of her own memory, the beings of her locked psyche, something too wicked to fathom completely--something she didn't understand. Something she couldn't understand.

But as she expected--or rather hoped, she woke on her Mentor's couch, head throbbing, hot, aching and burning. The light was dim in the train, but enough to illuminate Jacob's figure at the target wall. She coughed as she pushed herself further up on the couch, catching the attention of her Mentor.

"Do I need to have you institutionalized yet?" He asked, barely turning to look at her.

"Not yet old man," She snorted, forcing a smile for her sake--maybe his too. She knew he worried, even if he didn't admit it; if he would ever admit it. "It'll take much more to get rid of me, I promise. My head's fine too, thank you."

She watched her Mentor make a face as she forced herself to her feet and ignored the screaming throughout her body. She took the arm of the couch in hand to brace herself, other hand at her head. "What happened?" She huffed, eyes falling on the roll of bandages atop the desk beside him, a rust coloured rag and the bucket of water it was resting on.

"Besides you almost getting yourself killed? Again?" Jacob said, eyeing her over his shoulder again before turning to face her. "You set a building on fire, got stabbed in the process and then passed out for _hours_ trying to get back...here, I presume?"

"Ah," She exhaled, nodding fondly. "Right, I remember that. And I didn't set the building on fire, I just happened to be there when it was." She stood to straighten herself up, a hand on her side.

The corner of Jacob's lip twitched upwards, but she couldn't be sure, as dark as it was.

"Do we have any...What do you call it...laudanum?" She asked, stepping forward to start looking through the desk beside him. 

"At the rate you drink it, probably not." He said, a hint of something in his voice. Annoyance, maybe? To be fair, she does spend a majority of her..."tips" on the damned drug.

"You're abnormally funny today, Mentor," She teased, nudging her shoulder into his as she tugged open the middle drawer of the desk. "Are you having a stroke?"

Jacob made a face, taking a step back. "Oreceline, do you even know how old I am?"

She shrugged as she pulled the cork from the bottle, knocking the rest of it down without a thought. She hoped it'd be enough to nullify something. "Old. I'm not only your initiate, but your caregiver." She smiled, glancing down for a moment to drop the bottle into the bin.

Jacob rolled his eyes. "You're my pupil, yes. Although I can name a number of others that actually act like it. You have to be the needle in the haystack don't you?"

Oreceline smiled, standing up straight as fast as she could manage, groaning at the pain burning in her side. "Of course. And what do you expect me to do, Monsieur? Address you in your own serious and grumpy tone?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, only amusing her more. She knew he demanded respect from his initiates, what with his leadership and such, and to occasionally deny that from him was...Pleasing to say the least.

A moment of silence passed between them, the only noise present in the area the workings of the train and the rowdiness of Jacob's gang in the next traincar. 

"Anyways,"Oreceline hummed, breaking her gaze with the other. "If you don't have anything else for me to do?" She rubbed at her side as she stood there, looking around the train. 

The action caught his attention, actually pulling him away from the wall for a moment. He dragged over the bucket, bloodwater sloshing over onto the rug at his carelessness. "Lie on the couch, jacket off."

"Oh Mentor," She breathed, a smirk on her lips as she shucked off her jacket, tossing the article of clothing onto the safe. "Not even going to take me out to dinner first? Some romantic you are..." She groaned as she stretched back out on the couch, folding her arms behind her head as she watched him.

Jacob scowled, kneeling by her side with little less than a glance in her direction. "You're insufferable." He told her, lifting her shirttail and pulling her bandages from her wound to begin to tend to it. 

Oreceline smiled, craning her neck to see it and the specks of blood on her bindings. The area around her wound was red, oh so red on her bronze skin as if someone had smeared her hip with paint. "Maybe, but you love me anyways."

Jacob snorted as he touched at the area around her stitches, sparing her a glance. "How's that feel?" He asked, reaching down to take the rag in his hand to wring it out.

"Painful," She said. "But I think it's worth it, I got a new trophy. A pretty, jagged little thing." She added, letting her head rest back on the mess of pillows behind her.

Jacob nodded, wiping down the area as carefully as he could, dabbing at the beads of blood that'd leak out around her stitches. "Mmhm... 'S jagged all right. What were you stabbed with anyhow?"

"Don't remember, but I'll go out on a limb and say something _very_ pointy." Oreceline squirmed at his touch, frost creeping around her sutures and into her bones. For a moment she was floating in the Channel, ripping her skirts from her body as she sank, saltwater replacing her air. "Tell me about my next target." She huffed, looking for anything to distract her from her thoughts.

Jacob looked up at her as if she was insane, then back down at her hip as he continued his task. "First of all, that's information I don't have, and second, what makes you think you have a next target in this state? You move too fast or climb a few feet too high and you'll rip your sutures, fall to your death and I'll be one initiate short."

" _Mon Dieu_ Jacob, you sure know how to get a woman going don't you?" She muttered, eyeing him as well as she could in her position. Did he only think of her as a number? One of his initiates and not an actual person? She felt...some kind of way about the man, maybe admiration, but definitely annoyance most of the time. Why was he so...him? The stereotypical grumpy old man (even though he wasn't that much past middle aged) with a disdain for informal titles and bedtimes past eight. Well, does he sleep? The bags under his eyes made her wonder.

Jacob hummed, getting to his feet again as he pulled her bandages down back over her hip, flipping her shirttail down with little care. "Well, it is one of my specialties." He said, taking the bucket and setting it back by the desk, shaking his hand dry. He waved her up to the target board and stepped aside once she was there, looking for her entire focus to be on the mess of papers and red strings on the wall.

"You made every stitch ache again," She grumbled, rubbing her side as she leaned on the desk to her right. "But yes, go on, I'm listening. I finished off Palmerston last night, so that means my next target has to be somewhere in the Tower of London."

The elder arched an eyebrow at her, waving his hand to get her to continue.

She touched at her sides for a moment before realizing she didn't have her coat on, and went back over to its spot on the safe to retrieve what she needed. " _Es-tu fier de moi Mentor? J'ai eu ça alors que je saignais."_ She smiled, pulling a letter from one of her pockets and handing it to Jacob.

"English, Oreceline."

She sighed. "Are you proud of me Mentor? I got this as I was bleeding out."

"Better. And," He looked towards the target wall, noting the red splashes of paint over three of the seven portraits. "I suppose I am. You haven't died yet, so I must be doing something right."

"Now, you're the one being insufferable. Just leave it at 'I suppose so' next time."

Jacob ignored her as he looked over the letter, tossing it onto the desk [the one stacked with letters and books, thank god] once he was done with it.

She turned her nose up at this, once again finding herself wondering if she should even bother with him. There were times she wondered how he wasn't married at this age, and then there were times she understood. "Thank you Oreceline, for aiding in the investigation of the Templar re-uprising in London, your efforts--and near death is _very_ much appreciated." She muttered although rather loudly, mimicking the Cockney accent of the other.

She could hear his eye roll through the way his pen plunged into the ink beside him, the force splashing some of it onto the tablecloth. " _M_ _m, pas étonnant que vous ne soyez pas marié.._ You're messy. C _omme un bébé."_ She said, dragging her finger through the ink and smearing it into the leather of her glove. 

"You shouldn't use cognates if you don't want me understanding what you're saying," He told her, mumbling half of his sentence as he spoke. "Unlike you, I work all day and don't have the time to clean up."

Oreceline nodded at that, but would never admit he was right and his point was fair. All she truly did was mess around London for a majority of her time, checking laudanum stocks and collecting trinkets. "You want to not be able to understand me completely? Noted."

Jacob turned to look at her, hazel eyes holding nothing but annoyance for her existence in the moment. 

"Oreceline isn't my real name, as I see you forget. And if you don't want to understand me, dearest _Mentore,_ I'll be sure to refer to your... _Ukunglichheid,_ in my native language. Would that make you happy?"

She smiled, leaning off of the desk and dragging her finger through the ink again. 

"Don't you have anything else to do?" He asked, looking down at her as the gears turned in his head. She opened her mouth to respond, his gloved hand keeping her silence. "Besides get on my last few nerves?"

"I could give you a few grey hairs if that's your fancy. Heard additional stress is a _very_ reliable formula." She hummed, shuffling around him to get back to the couch. "But I'll be considerable, if you could call it that, and simply rest here until I can leave again. 'Cause more havoc for you to save me from." She told him, sprawling out on the couch, leaving one leg on the floor to steady herself on the particularly rough train sways.

"Can you do that in the next car over?" Jacob grumbled, turning back to his books. 

Oreceline gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in mock shock. "You're asking a handicapped initiate of yours to relocate so you can brood in peace _Mentore?_ I thought you were better than that at least."

There was another, possibly longer moment of silence between them, one that, had the train not been so loud, she could hear Jacob's heart, the petite thing. 

"You're insufferable, you're not handicapped, just mildly inconvenienced."

"Mm-hm. And you're an old man who cares for nothing but his books--spare the few initiates. To each their own."

"That applies to hobbies, not disrespecting elders."

She cracked an eye open at him, pleased to see some expression of disdain on his features. She could tell he was attractive when he was young, but that was a thought for another time, or one never to be had at all. But the expression was something she knew he made quite alot. "Perhaps my hobby is disrespecting my elders, that ever cross your mind? I know not many things do, but did that ever bounce around in there for at least a moment?"

She closed her eyes again and folded an arm behind her head, humming at the wonder of the expression on his face. She'd consider herself well enough acquainted with Jacob to know his sounds and which expression went with it-- a mental game she'd play during times like these, or in the darkness of one of London's infamously deadly alleyways.

The sound of Jacob's pen on paper felt almost, relaxing to her, as if it was some sort of music she'd only discovered now--now that she's actually listening. The sounds of the train, Rooks next door and her Mentor. It could be a lullaby, if she wanted to sleep that is. 

She hummed, turning to look over the other. "Mm, _Jakobe,_ lets start being nicer to each other eh? At least until this month is over." It surprised her she hadn't driven him off yet--not like she was trying, she swears she wasn't. "How's that sound?"

"Like you want something." 

"Not this time. Jus' want something to listen to while I lay here--other than your pen writing more letters to the Council. A story from your and Evie's youth, if you don't hate me yet."

"Oreceline, that's still wanting something," He told her, dumping the opposite pot of sand onto his letter. She didn't know why he bothered with it, as much as he left his letters around for hours after writing them, the scatterbrained bastard. "Or is it just that you enjoy the sound of my voice?" He preened, something of a smile coming to his lips.

"Maybe your accent, but I've had about enough of you personally." She bit her lip, her gears being the one to turn this time. "How about your favourite Templar hunt?"

Jacob arched an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he leaned back against their target wall. "Templar hunt?"

"What, too old to remember?"

"No, and shut your mouth will you? You're old enough to have some semblance of when to not talk aren't you?"

Oreceline smiled, shrugging at the thought. "Perhaps. But you appreciate my wit."

"Mm, that is one thing to call it."

As much as she complained about the other on a daily--almost bidaily basis, she was greatful for the other, although not the slew of paper trails and whiskey all over the traincar. But if it meant he didn't question her about her...Dreams and helped her awake when she needed it, she could live with it. She'd have to, but that wasn't the point. The point, was that of symbolics; ying and yang but of an energy sense. Jacob was a good man, she knew that--even if others doubted it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ukunglichheid: Messiness

**Author's Note:**

> Quote credit Edgar Allen Poe's A Dream  
> Ukunglichheid: Messiness


End file.
